An hour into the night and someone suggested we put on a little music. One of the girls tossed me her keys and I jogged up the hill to plug in her phone. A faint melody played from the speakers, the soft strum of a guitar filling the air. I turned up the volume and sat on the back of the Ute.

Some of my friends cheered when they heard the song, so they lifted themselves off the sand and started dancing. I watched them sway and laugh before my eyes landed on Ash. She was sitting cross-legged with a couple of other people, grinning at something someone said.

"Aren't you going to have a drink?" Jackson asked as he climbed up the sandy hill and hauled himself up next to me.

"Driving," I explained without looking up.

"She's pretty cool," Jackson said, noticing my line of sight. "Why didn't you tell us Cathy had a daughter?"

"I only just found out tonight. I should have figured it out though. Mum told me to clean out my study earlier this month. I thought it was for Cathy, but she also redid the spare room. I guess it didn't click that there would be two of them moving in."

Now that I thought about it, it seemed awfully stupid that I didn't realise Cathy wouldn't be moving in by herself. My mother had been rearranging my study all month, buying second hand furniture and a new mattress and painting the walls an impossible-to-ignore shade of 'pastel lilac'.

I once referred to it as merely 'purple', which had clearly offended my mother and she spent the rest of the day explaining the difference between the different colours of the spectrum.

However, I thought all the work in the study was meant to be for Cathy. I hadn't even thought of checking the spare room to see if she had rearranged everything and repainted the walls in other colours with descriptive names like 'carnival cotton candy'.

"Well, is she going to be registering at Lyon?"

"I'm guessing so. Unless she plans to drive an hour to school each day. A ten minute trip would be a lot easier, but really, that's up the Cathy and Ash."

"I think she's going to fit right in," Jackson said, watching as Sam animatedly gestured while he spoke to her.

"I think she already has. But I think it's time to swoop in and save her. Sam might poke her eye out if he swings his arms around any more wildly."

The closer we got to our friends, the louder Sam's voice became. Ash was politely listening to whatever ridiculously exaggerated recount he was telling, a bottle of beer in her hands. The cap was missing, but there was no sign of consumption.

"What are you bragging about now, Gibson?" Jackson asked, dropping into the sand in front of them.

"I was just telling Ash about my cooking skills."

"You mean your lack of them?" Jackson had a mischievous grin.

"Shut up, man. You know you love my gourmet purée de pommes de terre." Sam's attempt at a convincing French accent never failed to make me laugh.

"In other words, your famous mashed potatoes?" I said.

Jackson dropped onto his back and laughed. Sam didn't seem fazed though. He just kicked some sand in his direction and kept a smug smile on his face.

"You're just jealous because I'm the master of the culinary arts."

He laughed harder.

"We can't all have heroic stories like you, Nix. We other guys need something to impress the ladies."

Jackson sat up from the sand, looking much more serious. "You know I don't do it to impress anyone."

Ash looked around the small circle of people and tried to figure out what was going on. I wanted to fill her in, but I knew it wasn't my story to share. Jackson never shared that little piece of information about himself, but on the rare occasion, it would arise in a conversation.

His younger sister, Emma, was diagnosed with cancer when she was ten. Jackson was fourteen at the time, in that awkward stage of high school. He didn't know how to express how he felt about his sister's condition. An outlet was out of the picture; he couldn't concentrate, nor commit to anything for more than a month and he never even considered talking because he claimed there weren't enough words to do it justice.

But Jackson did find something that helped him. He discovered the World's Greatest Shave. When Emma started chemotherapy and began losing her hair, she was devastated. It hurt as hell seeing his sister, barely going through puberty yet, silently suffering because she truly believed she lost all her beauty. He knew words wouldn't be able to convince her that with, or without hair, she was still simply stunning. So one afternoon, he shaved his head and started raising money and awareness.

Emma had since gone into remission, but Jackson still attended the events and shaved every single year. To most people, it was a heroic act and was quite admired when it came to the ladies. But Jackson didn't see it as an opportunity to score a girlfriend. It was his way of telling his sister that he loved her and that she was beautiful, even while she was sick. And he strongly believed it didn't deserve all the attention it seemed to be getting.

"I'm sorry." Sam instantly saw the flaw in his teasing. "I was being an ass. You know I don't mean it."

"I know." Jackson smiled. "Just shut up and drink your beer."

The guys exchanged quick grins. All was forgiven and forgotten, and the conversation easily slid back to normal.

"Anyone need a lift?" I asked when eleven rolled around.

As much as I liked hanging out with my friends, school had been draining the absolute life out of me. I felt like I could hibernate until summer. The beach wasn't making it any better. The soft sound of the waves rolling onto the sand was calming me to a point of near unconsciousness. I had to take off my glasses and rub the blurriness from my eyes.

"Going so soon?" Miles said, but even he had a dopey grin that showed his fatigue.

"Yeah, I think I might go too. I have to fill my tank." Sam stood, dusting the sand off his jeans.

"Damn, thanks for reminding me. I have to stop at the servo too."

"Oh yeah... I should probably get some gas."

Jackson looked momentarily confused. "What other tank are you talking about?"

Sam patted his belly. "I'm starving."

"Dude, you practically inhaled a whole pizza at Dino's."

"Well, now I want a burrito."

"Lame," Miles said. "Guess this party's over. I have an economics paper due on Monday. Should probably start it."

I gave him a sympathetic slap on the back. "Rough."

Together, the group started picking up their things, dusting sand off their laps, and throwing rubbish in the bin. Ash lifted her arms and stretched before reaching to pick up her shoes. The laces were caked with mud, the fabric worn. They had been battered to a pulp, but the confidence in her stride made them look like they were designed that way.

"Weekends go by way too fast," someone groaned into the night air, causing a round of stifled laughter.

Beside me, Jackson made the softest sigh. It was so quiet, it could have been mistaken for a simple exhale of breath with the way it got caught in the wind and disappeared before you could barely catch it. I nudged my friend in the ribs.

"You okay?"

Sam came up behind us, swinging his arm around Jackson's neck and holding him in a headlock. He ground his knuckles into Jackson's cropped hair. "He's just bummed that Georgina didn't come."

"Maybe something came up," he muttered, looking defeated as he slumped under Sam's grip.

Sam instantly let go and gently shoved him, as if pushing him around will bring back some of his enthusiasm. "Come on, man. Burritos before babes. I'll shout you a soft taco if you want."

Jackson forced a smile. "Alright."

"My main man is back!" Sam hollered.

I laughed. Beside me, Ash was watching the exchange between the boys, a quirk in her lips. I was somewhat glad that she didn't ask who Georgina was. I didn't think it would be fair to let her in on a secret that even Jackson couldn't admit to.

When we reached the Jeep, I pulled out my car keys and unlocked the doors. Sam and Jackson were still goofing around in the carpark, so I reached over to the centre console and rolled down the passenger's side window.

"See you guys on Monday?"

Sam jogged over to the car. "Affirmative. I'll see you on Monday, and I'll see you in my dreams tonight." He winked at Ash. "I'm thinking you'll be wearing a red dress and a killer smile."

"With a rifle tucked under my arm."

He considered this. "I dig dangerous women."

"You know, you're only giving me more of a reason to slap you."

"Being slapped by you would be a man's wildest dream."

Ash raised an eyebrow, a challenging smile playing on her lips as her fingers twitched above her knee. Sam had practically wormed his way through the open window, half his torso hanging inside the car. But when he saw the dare in Ash's eyes, he quickly wiggled out of the way before she could lift a finger.

Sam retreated so fast that he bumped his head on the way out. He scowled and rubbed the back of his head. While he was distracted, I rolled the window back up before he could harass her any further.

"Bye, Sam."

Sam made a sound of protest, placing his hands against the quickly closing window. Once it was completely shut, he dropped his cheek against the glass and sighed in defeat. Thankfully though, Jackson came to the rescue, peeled him off the car, and started dragging him across the lot.

"Sam...he--"

"Comes of a little strong?"

"A little is an understatement."

I laughed as I pulled out of the carpark and onto the road. "He just likes leaving a lasting impression. Does it to make sure he's remembered."

There was so much more of the explanation left unsaid, but I didn't say any more. I didn't want to go gallivanting around sharing everyone's history. She now knew a lot about my friends and I didn't even know the names of hers.

"Now that you've met my friends, will I get to meet some of yours?" I asked.

"Probably not. I doubt even I will see them. I start at Lyon on Monday."

I slowed to a stop at the red light. Just from her voice, I could tell she wasn't happy about it. Even her face was twisted into a scowl. I could see her lips tug into a frown from the corner of my eye.

"Lyon isn't that bad. I promise."

Her features seemed to relax as I said this, as if realising the sour look her face was making. Ash managed to lift her chin.

"Green," was all she said.

I returned my attention to the streetlights, placed my foot on the pedal and surged us forward once again. The remainder trip was short and quiet. The radio remained untouched, conversation was non-existent. Ash seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. I wondered if mentioning her friends had hit a tender spot.

But as soon as we pulled up at the house, our silence was shattered by the high octave of drunk giggles. I killed the engine and looked dauntingly at the front door.

"I don't know if it's safe to enter." I was relieved to hear her talk.

I spun my keys on my fingers and caught them in my palm, laughing. "It will be alright. Unless the baby photos come out, then that would definitely classify as an emergency."

"That's where you're wrong. Half of our things are still at my old house, and that includes anything remotely reminiscent of my childhood."

"Ah, but you forgot the power of phones."

Ash took this into consideration and swore. "Well, just for the record, I deny everything."

"Likewise."

Together, we headed inside the house. The sound of laughter only intensified as the door opened. I was mildly frightened of what I'd find if I crept any further into the house.

Last time Mum and Cathy had gotten drunk, I came home to them doing karaoke with celery sticks. But as I walked into the kitchen, they were exactly the way we left them. The only difference was the empty bottle of wine sitting on the table.

"You're home," Mum half-cheered, half-slurred. "Hey, guess what? I'm drunk!"

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I noticed."

"How was the bonfire?" Cathy asked.

"Same old."

"Did you meet some of Dust's friends?" my mother asked Ash. "Jackson is a sweetheart. Sam is a pervert. Isn't it, honey? He's a pervert."

"He's a pervert," I confirmed.

Cathy looked up at her daughter. "Did you have fun?"

Ash patted her mother's hand. "Apparently not as much fun as you."

Mum and Cathy erupted in a fit of laughter.

"I think this is our cue to leave," I said. "I suggest you go to bed soon too."

My mother gently placed her hand on my cheek and gave me a warm smile, a mixture of intoxication, sleepiness and gratitude. Then I left.

Before going to my room, I took a quick shower and changed into a pair of track pants and a worn out t-shirt. On my way to bed, I paused outside Ash's room to say good night. But through the closed door, I could hear her talking. Not only that, but she sounded happy. She sounded nice when she was happy.

I didn't want to interrupt so I let her be.